After the Tide Recedes
by fbiwoman223
Summary: "Did she have anyone she could really confide in? More and more lately, he was realizing that he wanted to be that someone." Episode tag for 1x03, "Red Tide." Some comfort, some angst, and a little bit o' Jisbon.


Exceptionally Long Author's Note: I'm baaaaaaaaack! For those of you who are reading (and patiently waiting for an update to) "Choices", I apologize. I had a very, very rough semester and had to put writing on the back burner. I have, by no means, forgotten about it and am working on an update which I hope to post within the next few days.

This is just an exercise to get me back into the swing of things. After the finale (which I have not stopped watching since it aired, BTW), a bunch of us on Twitter have been doing a rewatch of episodes, starting with the pilot. I'll post a bit more info at the end if any of you want to join us!

"Red Tide" hit me square in the feels, but I needed a little something more. Also, I'm taking liberties with the establishment of Lisbon's office and her personal history, so don't yell at me. I hope you enjoy!

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**After the Tide Recedes**

He found her in her office.

He wasn't intentionally seeking her out, at least not consciously. After all, it was still perfectly logical that she would be here to finish up the last of the paperwork regarding their murderous quartet.

So, he shouldn't have been surprised to see the faint glow of lamplight coming from her office, even though the rest of the bullpen had long since closed up shop and moved on.

But he knew, that for her, this case had been different. She had done a superb job at masking it, so much so that it took him a bit longer than usual to notice that something was off. Her silences had been a bit longer, her shoulders carried a bit more tension, and her steps seemed a bit more weighted. What had really tipped him off was after that remark from Kurtik. Instead of the punch or verbal dressing down that he had been expecting (and looking forward to), she had just looked at him with barely concealed disgust and let him walk away. He'd caught a flash of defeat in her eyes as she'd turned to him before heading to her office. That was when he'd known something was definitely not right.

He didn't have to be a former fake psychic to see what it was, either. Lisbon was a very private person and wasn't prone to sharing much of anything regarding her personal life, particularly her past. He'd only been able to gather bits and pieces about her life before his introduction into it, and they decorated her room in his memory palace like prized trophies.

Earlier, he'd overheard Grace telling Rigsby about how Lisbon had reacted to her bringing up the similarities between this case and Lisbon's own history. Grace had been worried that she'd overstepped, and that there might be consequences to her getting so personal. Jane had had to conceal his grin behind his cup of tea. Lisbon sometimes had a tendency to invoke a wrath that would make the average man very, very nervous.

Patrick Jane, however, had never been average. Which is why, when most people would have just let her have her space, he opened her door.

He had expected to see her at her desk, hard at work. Instead, she was on the sofa, her skin pale against the dark maroon cushions. She started slightly when the door opened, quickly tucking something underneath the throw pillow next to her while simultaneously slipping her professional mask in place.

He'd seen both actions, though for now, he pretended not to notice.

"Jane? Don't you know how to knock?" She tried to inject a decent amount of irritation into her voice, but instead, she just sounded tired.

"Um, of course I do. In this instance, I just chose not to." He smiled as she rolled her eyes. His tea found a spot on the coffee table in front of the couch and he found a spot just a little closer to her than what he normally would.

She looked at him warily. Even in the dim light, he could see that her eyes were red-rimmed, though there were no traces of tear tracks on her cheeks. He felt a touch of sadness at the thought that she wouldn't even allow herself to break down even when she was alone.

Did she have anyone that she could really confide in? Religious confessionals aside, did she have someone she could unload her burdens on? Someone who listened and offered their shoulder and was just…_there_ for her. He didn't think so. More and more lately, he was realizing that he wanted to be that someone.

And that made him feel a bit uneasy. His quest for personal vengeance didn't allow for close relationships, but Lisbon had managed to sneak around his carefully constructed fortress and raise a very small flag.

"Jane? You still with me?" He must have been lost in his mind for longer than he thought, because the subject of his thoughts was staring at him with a worried expression on her face.

_Nice, Patrick, _his subconscious supplied. _You came here to help _her, _you idiot. _

"Of course, Lisbon. I'm always with you. I actually came to see if you were all right. This case had to have hit close to home, eh?"

"I'm fine, Jane. This was just like any other case." He wondered how many times she'd told herself that in the last day or so.

"Yes, except it wasn't."

"What is it you want me to say, Jane? I'm _fine._" She shifted slightly on the couch and ran her hands rapidly over her knees before clasping them tightly in her lap.

He didn't believe her. "Look me in the eyes and say that, Teresa."

She looked up, startled. He didn't use her first name very often, but when he did, it was because he was trying to get her attention. Just as it did every other time, it worked like a charm. She met his eyes, and got as far as "I'm" before she stopped.

His gaze was intensely focused on her, not unlike when he had tricked Grace into letting him drive by finding the "hidden" van keys. This time, however, there was no joke to be had, no con to be played. He truly wanted her to open up to him, to share a part of herself that she hadn't shared with anyone.

After a few loaded seconds, she looked away and closed her eyes, her head hanging. Traces of tears clung to the sigh that seemed to wrench itself from her innermost being, and the knuckles of her clasped hands turned white in an effort to hold herself together.

Tentatively, he reached over and took those hands in one of his. She was so tiny that he could easily encompass both of them in just one palm. They were ice cold. Gently, he pried her fingers apart and used his thumb to rub soothing circles on her palm.

"What's underneath the pillow, Teresa?"

She smiled a bit as she shook her head. "I can't hide anything from you, can I?" She freed one of her hands from his and withdrew a small picture frame from beneath the pillow. Her fingers handled it delicately, with reverence, as if it was the most precious object on Earth. She stared at the picture for a moment before wordlessly handing it to him.

"That's my mother," she explained softly, though unnecessarily.

One of the most beautiful women he had ever seen beamed back at him from behind the thin glass of a small, antique-style tiled frame. She was petite, with long, raven-black hair that hung nearly to her waist. A sea green sundress complemented her olive complexion and made her vibrant jade eyes seem to glow. The smile on her face was full of affection for whoever was behind the lens. He recognized that smile instantaneously because he managed, from time to time, to coax an almost identical one from the woman next to him.

It was the little girl in the photo, however, who captured his attention. A slim girl, around eleven or twelve, he thought, had her arms wrapped around her mother's waist. Her hair was long, dark and wavy, and nearly the same shade as her mother's. It was hard to get a good look at her face, but her pale skin was scattered with light brown freckles, and the look on her face as she grinned up at her mother was an unguarded mixture of love and adoration.

"This was taken about two weeks before she died," Lisbon stated quietly. "My dad had taken us all to the aquarium because we'd done so well in school. My brothers wanted to go to the zoo, but mom and I wanted to see the Rainbow Fish exhibit. He only got them to stop whining by promising them a stop at FAO Schwartz on the way home."

She swallowed hard, her throat working to expel words that he knew were difficult for her. He placed a hand on her knee, squeezing it in silent encouragement. She stared at it a moment before she continued.

"This is one of the only pictures I have of her. My dad started drinking pretty heavily after…after the accident. It got worse after her funeral. One night, he just started gathering all of her stuff—all her clothes, her makeup, her books. He brought it out to the burn barrel in the back yard, dumped a bunch of gas all over it, and set it on fire. I tried to stop him, but it was like he was determined to erase every trace of her existence. This picture was a stand in the living room, and I managed to hide it in my room in between his trips outside."

She paused a moment, her eyes staring off into space, two thousand miles and twenty years away. "I'd gone outside to plead with him to stop. Her perfume bottles started exploding, so I tried to get him to come inside. I grabbed his arm and…" Her voice trailed off. "That was the first time I, uh, _fell._" Her hand unconsciously rose to her jaw. She kept her head down, unable to look at him.

Jane felt his own jaw clench in anger. Charlotte had often pushed his buttons, and she had been disciplined, but he had _never_ raised a hand to her in violence. The thought had never once crossed his mind. His fingers must have gripped her knee a little too tightly, for she flinched a little and removed his hand, lacing their fingers together instead.

"It's okay, Jane. It was a long time ago."

"It's not okay, Teresa. It's not okay at all. He _beat_ you!"

"Yeah, but after a while, we learned how to stay out of the way. I would make sure to get them out of the house when he started drinking. Which was most of the time. We would go back in when he'd passed out so that I could make dinner and get the boys ready for bed. It went on for a bit…until it didn't."

Jane was almost afraid to have her go on, but he was more afraid that she'd stop. So, even though he dreaded what she was going to say next, he softly prompted her to continue.

"It was early in the morning. Very early—right around three. I don't know what woke me, but after I'd laid there a bit, I smelled smoke. I tried to go downstairs to get my dad, but there was fire everywhere. I got to my brother's room and managed to wake Tommy up. He helped me get James and Michael to my room. There was a tree next to my window, but we lived in Chicago, so my dad had secured the window pretty good. I managed to smash it with my softball trophy. Cut my wrist pretty bad on the glass, actually. I still have a small scar…

Anyway, we got down the tree when I realized Mom's picture was still in my room. Tommy thought I was nuts, but I couldn't leave her there. I made him take the boys to the neighbor's while I went back in to get it. It was so hot… I grabbed the picture, got out, and the house collapsed about ten minutes later.

Of course, I didn't find out until later, but my dad's death was ruled a suicide. He was a firefighter, so he knew how to start them and make them last. He'd doused everything on the first floor, including the stairs, in accelerant, lit a match, and then locked himself in his room. He had so much alcohol in his system that the coroner's report said that he was most likely unconscious by the time his bedroom started to burn. In reality, though, the person who was my father had died long before that night."

She finished with a long sigh, finally looking at him. Her expression was surprisingly blank, despite the emotional road she had just re-traveled.

"That's why I gave Mr. Tanner that card. He's got a couple of great kids, and they deserve a better life than he's setting them up for. I hope he gets the help he needs."

Jane was very rarely at a loss for words. But, Lisbon's nonchalance had shocked him, even though he knew it shouldn't have. Since his time in law enforcement, he'd seen countless abuse victims recount their stories as if they were outside of themselves, detached and removed from the horrors they'd lived.

He just never thought he'd see that look on Lisbon.

He stood up suddenly, and rounded the coffee table to stand in front of her desk. She stood as well, confused by his quick change in position, and slowly made her way over to stand next to him. His disbelief must have still been showing on his face, because she quickly averted her eyes.

"This is why I don't discuss my personal life," she murmured. "I don't need pity, Jane."

Before he could stop himself, his fingers landed under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. He shook his head fiercely. "I don't pity you, Teresa. I am heartbroken for that girl you once were. I am horrified at the fear and grief you had to endure. I am amazed at the woman who stands in front of me today, and I am humbled that she chose to share her story with me." He reached over to the coffee table and picked up the photograph.

"She would be unbelievably proud of the woman you are today, Teresa. You embody every good thing she gave to you and amplify it. That is not something I pity. It's something I envy. I hope, someday, to be able to do the same for Angela and Charlotte." He swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat.

Lisbon looked at him then, tears swimming in her green orbs. "Thank you," she whispered, before she threw her arms around him and buried her face in this neck. He felt the droplets release from her eyes and make contact with his skin, searing little paths straight into his heart.

Instead of responding verbally, he just held her tighter, not quite trusting himself to speak. He couldn't guess at how long they stood there, but he knew he would have no problem staying that way all night. She finally pulled back, smiling tremulously at him, and he used his thumbs to brush away the last of the tears from her cheeks. She returned the gesture, and he was surprised to find he must have shed some of his own.

Reluctantly, she left his embrace. It took everything he had not to reach for her again. He watched as she put the picture of her mother back into her desk drawer and shut off her computer. She shut off the lamp, and he bent over to grab his cup and saucer from the table. He offered her his arm, and together, they navigated the bullpen to the elevator, stopping in the break room so that he could place his dishes in the sink.

She leaned her head on his shoulder as they waited for the elevator, and still as they descended to the parking garage. His Citroen was parked alongside her SUV, and as they approached the vehicles, he found he was reluctant to part ways. Tonight had been monumental in terms of their relationship, and returning to an empty motel room seemed nearly criminal.

When they reached the door to her SUV, he leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut as he lingered a bit longer than was most likely considered socially acceptable, but she didn't back away.

He straightened up and opened the door for her. "Goodnight, Teresa," he said, his voice sounding husky even to his own ears.

She smiled slightly, seemingly struggling with what she wanted to say. Her eyes closed, and the words came out in a rush. "Would you want to come over? I don't have much for refreshments, but I do have some leftover Thai-"

"Leftover Thai sounds like it'd hit the spot right about now." He couldn't help the wide grin that spread across his face. "I'll stop and pick up some wine to go along. See you soon?"

She nodded, that small smile returning to her lips once more. "See you soon. And Jane?"

"Yes?" He paused, about to unlock the Citroen.

"Thank you." With that, she started her car and headed for home.

"You're welcome," he whispered to the empty parking garage. Then he got into the Citroen, fired it up, and made his way to her once again.

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Eeek! So, I'd love a review. Loved it? Hated it? Wished I'd just stayed away from a keyboard? I'm a bit apprehensive after all this time away. And remember, this is only really my 2nd fic, so be gentle in your criticisms.

If you want to join in on the rewatch fun, come find us on Twitter! Every Thursday through Sunday at 3 PM, EST, we live tweet a certain episode. I'm fbiwoman223 over there as well, so come find me and tweet along! There's a lot of really great people over there who don't usually mind when you butt into their conversations. ;)

Until next time…


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